


Dulce

by another_Hero



Series: Dulce [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: F/F, celebratory horticultural femslash, flower shop not-au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23555587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/another_Hero/pseuds/another_Hero
Summary: The florist had an undercut and fat thighs and hoop earrings and laugh lines and she clocked Ronnie right away. "We close in ten minutes," she said, "but you can stay as long as you like."
Relationships: Ronnie Lee/the florist she KNOWS
Series: Dulce [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765873
Comments: 44
Kudos: 70





	Dulce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_hodag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_hodag/gifts).



> the_hodag said: ⭐️i need something about ronnie and this mysterious florist⭐️
> 
> anyway I don't date but here's a date

There was a new florist in Elmdale, and Ronnie was early for a third date in Elmdale, and she figured she may as well. The bell on the door announced her, and a person turned from a bouquet of who the fuck knew what, and Ronnie, who was supposed to be at a date with Lana from the bar in twelve (12) minutes, was fucked. The florist had an undercut and fat thighs and hoop earrings and laugh lines and she clocked Ronnie right away. "We close in ten minutes," she said, "but _you_ can stay as long as you like."

"I, uh," she said, because Ronnie was plenty of things, but she wasn't unreliable, "I actually have somewhere to be."

"Oh." The florist's tone was light, just this side of mocking. "Let me guess, you want to take her flowers, but you don't know her that well yet, so you need something pretty and a little generic."

Ronnie raised her eyebrows. She was not about to give this florist the satisfaction, which meant she had to come up with a kind of flower. "Hydrangeas," she said.

The florist was full-on smirking now, and Ronnie _liked_ it, and she wished they could be in on this together. But she had nine minutes to get to the bar two blocks away and not flake on Lana, so when the florist asked whether she has any other specifications, she said, "I want to spend thirty dollars."

"So you _don't_ know her that well," the florist said. "Well, baby, I can't say I'm rooting for the two of you."

"Jesus," Ronnie muttered, because this woman was full-on _like this_ , apparently.

"I'm Dulce, actually, and I'll be filling orders for another two hours."

"Does this"—she gestured at Dulce's whole thing—"tend to work for you?"

"I don't know, I haven't tried it in a while," she said with a full grin. "Not a lot of people make me want to."

Ronnie chuckled this time. "Two hours," she said.

The door was unlocked when she got back to the shop, so Ronnie let herself in. Dulce was bent over a paper with glasses on, which was certainly a whole other thing; she looked up and smiled like the entire sun, like trouble. "You let her down easy?"

"You make a lot of demands for someone who hasn't taken me out yet." Ronnie had absolutely made her apologies to Lana, but that didn't mean Dulce was entitled to _expect_ her to.

"You got back here awfully fast for someone who just went on an entire date."

"Maybe I was visiting my aunt."

"Yeah, you wear that color lipstick for all your aunties?" Ronnie sent brief thanks into the universe that she'd remembered to touch it up. Dulce walked around the counter and slid her glasses up onto her head, sweet Jesus, and it occurred to Ronnie that she might just be out of her depth. She wasn't sure how she let herself get knocked on the back foot. She'd have to catch up. "You eat?”

"Maybe I didn't get to that yet," Ronnie said, half grinning and all ready.

"Arright, well, I'm new to town, I don't know the spots yet, I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

Good, good, that meant Ronnie could put her hand on Dulce's back, meant Ronnie could be the one leading the way, maybe meant the power struggle could be more game and negotiation than war. There wasn't much excellent in Elmdale; they'd get pizza. A pizza parlor was an easy place to be, not too polite, an after-work place. Dulce worked with pretty things, probably would have gone different sorts of places after work. Ronnie could learn what that was like, but they'd get pizza tonight. "There aren't spots," she said, walking her up the street. "There are"—she did a mental count—"six restaurants in Elmdale, and two bars, and not one of them could be described as a spot. How'd you end up here?"

"Turns out rent for a shop is _very_ cheap in Elmdale."

Ronnie gave a slow nod. "I'll bet it is," she said.

"And the nearest florist is 45 minutes away," Dulce said. "I'm much closer to the hospital and at least a couple funeral homes, so."

Ronnie made a point of respecting women with sense. She held open the door to Wise Pies, got a goofy smile for her trouble. Ronnie didn't mind being wooed, but she was damn well going to woo back. She advocated for pickled jalapenos on the pizza, but not too hard; she got a beer. She fed the jukebox so Dulce would comment on the jukebox, so Dulce would tell her what to play, so Dulce would put a hand on her shoulder and crowd in to look with her at the titles. And she did, and she did, and she did.

Ronnie could hardly object to Tracy Chapman, any more than she could object to the round softness of Dulce against her side. But "For My Lover" wasn't the sort of song she could ask a stranger to dance to in a pizza parlor, so she turned around and leaned on the jukebox and maybe, a little bit, on Dulce. The music was enough excuse to speak right next to her ear. "So how are you liking the Elms so far?"

"From where I'm standing," said Dulce, "it's the prettiest place I've been in a while."

After the pizza, and the mostly-not-awkward conversing, and the second beer—Ronnie really did have to get home. She had to be at a site out of town by six tomorrow morning. If she didn't, she thought she might have invited Dulce home; she thought she might have agreed. Instead she thanked Dulce for dinner, and she put a hand on her waist, wrapped farther around this time, and she said, "Where am I walking you?"

And Dulce put an arm around her shoulders and said, "My car's by the shop, but you can walk me anywhere you like."

She hadn't mourned the short walk on the way to pizza; she'd been hungry. But here they were in front of the store, nearly right away, and Ronnie did have to sleep, and that green car was Dulce's. She leaned on the front door, room between her legs for Ronnie to stand. "You know I want to kiss you," Dulce said. "I wanted to kiss you right when you came into the shop."

And Ronnie, well, she always tried to be generous.

A text came in while she was driving, and God help her, she hoped. She checked the phone when she parked, before she got inside. It was Dulce; it said, _Why hydrangeas?_

 _Well I didn't want to go with roses_ , she shot back. _You might have gotten the wrong idea._

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Art] Dulce and Ronnie: One Month In](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26331793) by [DoubleL27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleL27/pseuds/DoubleL27)




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